I did what I did to protect them. Yet, in doing so, I know that I’ve hurt them.
And I’ve hurt my husband.
My husband.
I spy him from the corner of my eye, notice his tense jaw, and how tightly he grips the steering wheel as he drives on. Who knows how much turmoil must be brewing inside his own mind?
And I’m the cause of it. If it wasn’t for me—for my loss of control—he wouldn’t have had to show up for me the way that he did. He wouldn’t have had to confront his mother and stand up for me against her.
But he did. Oh, he did.
I’m no better than my parents, lashing out in anger like this.
The juxtaposition makes me nauseous. Never have I felt more supported and cherished by Karan. For once, he chose me. And he didn’t even hesitate. He wasn’t there to see why I’d begun to argue with his mother in the first place, yet he chose to believe that I must have melted down for a good reason.
He trustsme.
Chose me.
Karan places the car in park when we pull up in a roadside motel. I hear the boys excitedly ask if we’re finally there. The sounds make it all the way to me, muffled but still present, as Karan takes the boys out of the car and walks inside the lobby, likely to get a room.
And I stay here.
Unable to move.
My husband chose me.
All the hope that I’d let wither and die mere hours ago attempts to sprout back to life. Yet, it does so in a field of ashes. Because the cost of his love for me has been substantial.
Will he resent me for it?
Maybe not now, in this very moment, but what about later, when the adrenaline fades from his bloodstream? Will he lay awake tonight, looking at me sleep, and start to doubt his decision? Will he harbour newfound anger at the way I behaved?
I keep telling myself it wasn’t my fault. I tried so, so hard to keep it together, but Martine wouldn’t let me breathe. And when she touched me, it all became too much.
There weren’t very many times in my life that I melted down in this way. The first time was when Cayce and Corey were newborns, and I’d been completely overwhelmed. It happened a few more times when they were toddlers, and one or two times after grueling days at work, but that’s it.
That’s why it took me by surprise.
My thoughts get interrupted when Karan opens my car door, unclips my seat belt, and coaxes me to stand. The boys are at his heels, both of their gazes focused on me. I can tell they’re worried sick. I hate to weigh on them so much. Hate the ugly rage that is an undiscernable part of me, passed down by blood from those I’ve cast out.
But the words won’t come out yet.
Karan ushers the three of us to a small motel room with an outside door. Inside is nothing spectacular; two double beds with kitschy comforters, green carpeting, a TV, a small round wooden table, and a bathroom in the far corner. A couple cheap paintings of boats adorn the walls.
Upon seeing the room, Cayce squeals and runs to the bed closest to us, followed by Corey. They both hop on the bed and start rolling on it and laughing their little hearts out. Their worry about me seems to be gone for now.
Good.
Karan takes my hand and ushers me to the other bed. “Here, lie down, baby.”
But I don’t. I stay seated, my gaze focused forward on my boys.
“Okay.” Karan strokes my back, so carefully that it feels like he thinks he’s going to break me. “I’m going to order us some food.”
“Can we get pizza?” Corey asks, his eyes lighting up.
“Yes, yes, let’s get pizza!” Cayce adds, just as excited.
